


misunderstanding, or is it?

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: But then weeks turned to months turned to years and Jaskier realized he’d been wrong; Geralt actually enjoyed physical touch as much as he did - he was just too scared to ask for it or seek it out beyond brief nights with whores. Sometimes Geralt would give him odd looks, yes, when he tried to hug him or touch him but he never pushed him away.And that, for Geralt, meant something.So, Jaskier kept pushing the boundaries and Geralt kept letting him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 715





	misunderstanding, or is it?

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Jaskier was a touchy person. It was just who he was; he adored leaning on others, sprawling in their laps, brushing his fingers through their hair. All of it. Geralt should’ve been the opposite - or, well, he acted like he was. When they first started traveling together, Jaskier would try to just _hug_ him and Geralt would give him an odd look.

But then weeks turned to months turned to years and Jaskier realized he’d been wrong; Geralt actually enjoyed physical touch as much as he did - he was just too scared to ask for it or seek it out beyond brief nights with whores. Sometimes Geralt would give him odd looks, yes, when he tried to hug him or touch him _but_ he never pushed him away.

And that, for Geralt, meant something.

So, Jaskier kept pushing the boundaries and Geralt kept letting him.

He would sprawl across his lap in taverns as Geralt talked with townsfolk about potential jobs. He’d play with his hair sometimes, too, standing behind him and making little braids that Geralt rolled his eyes at.

Even more than that, he just enjoyed touching Geralt, however lightly.

Like holding hands, which seemed to be one of Geralt’s favorites - sometimes, he’d even ask for it, not directly, of course, but he’d extend his hand and Jaskier would grab it with a pleased grin.

Geralt also enjoyed massages, rightfully so considering he was _always so tense._ Jaskier stood behind Geralt, hands on his shoulders, kneading the skin, while he talked with a man about a potential job. He listened at first before realizing the monster sounded _dreadfully_ boring and kind of zoned out, thinking about the song he’d been working on.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, pulling him out of his thoughts.

His hands stilled on his shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Yes?”

“Could you - “ he nodded at the empty mugs on the table; they needed more drinks. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, entirely in good fun, and squeezed his shoulders again. “Do I look like a waiter to you?” he asked. Before Geralt could answer, he pulled away and pointed a finger. “Do not answer that.”

Geralt smirked, eyes twinkling with amusement, and Jaskier flipped him off before turning around and walking to the bar.

He leaned against it and waved down the bartender, who was busy serving a group of giggling women. Shrugging, Jaskier turned away and folded his arms to wait, humming under his breath.

“You’re - the Witcher’s companion, right?” a voice asked to his left.

Jaskier had gotten similar questions before, so he turned to look at the person boredly. It was a woman with an odd quirk to her lips. “I am,” he answered. “And his barker; why do you ask?”

The woman looked away and Jaskier followed her gaze; she was looking at Geralt, who was watching them. Jaskier startled, a bit surprised, before quickly relaxing. He was probably just waiting for the drinks.

“Are... Witchers and their barkers, as you call yourself, usually so... _close_?”

Jaskier had not been asked _that_ particular question before, so he was a little taken back. He turned back to her. “What are you asking, exactly?” he asked. He could still feel Geralt’s eyes on him.

She smiled, all sharp. “I mean, rumors spread fast, you know, and the people are baffled,” she said, breezily, placing a hand on his arm. “About the bard who is _always_ touching the Witcher, the Witcher who doesn’t like to be touched by many.”

Jaskier folded his arms back over his chest, shrugging her hand off. “ _And?_ ” he prompted, unimpressed but his heart - his heart was beating like crazy. “We’re friends. Friends touch each other.”

“Normally, yes,” she drawled. “But this is _different_ , isn’t it?”

He didn’t know what to say. Thankfully he didn’t have to say anything; Geralt approached them, lips pressed together in a tight line. “Jaskier,” he said. “Are you okay?”

Jaskier blinked once, wondering how he knew. “Um, yes,” he answered, “The drinks are just taking a while.”

“It’s okay,” Geralt said almost instantly, eyeing the woman with a deep frown. He grabbed Jaskier’s arms. “I’m not thirsty anymore.” Without waiting for a reply, he dragged Jaskier out of the tavern. He didn’t stop until they were in the road, dirt under their feet.

Jaskier gently pulled his arm out of Geralt’s grip. “Um. What was that?”

“I could hear it,” Geralt said, looking at him. “Your heartbeat was going crazy.” He looked him up and down, something like concern clouding his features. “Did she do something to you?”

Jaskier smiled, small. “She didn’t,” he assured him, but surprisingly his expression only got darker. Jaskier frowned and reached out for him, something he’d done a hundred times but this time Geralt pulled away. “Geralt?” he asked, ignoring the pain in his chest.

“Was she - “ Geralt stopped himself, shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

He turned to walk away but Jaskier scrambled to stop him, grabbing his arm. “No,” he said. “What were you going to ask?”

Geralt stared at him. His eyes betrayed nothing, they never did. Jaskier held his arm. Geralt didn’t shrug him off. “Was she coming onto you?” he asked finally through clenched teeth and it was such a silly question Jaskier found himself wanting to laugh, but Geralt looked so serious he quickly squashed that urge.

“Um. What do you mean, exactly?” he prompted quietly. “Was she _flirting_ with me?”

Geralt nodded curtly, a sharp jerky movement. Jaskier’s heart stilled in his chest.

No fucking way.

“Geralt,” he said, slowly. “Are you _jealous_?”

Geralt’s eyes widened, just the tiniest bit. If he was with anyone else they probably wouldn’t have even noticed, but Jaskier knew him, knew every inch of his face and there was no missing it. He grinned slyly. “You are,” he said, stalking closer. “You are _jealous_ , Geralt.”

Jaskier promptly ignored the hope blooming in his chest.

“Why would I - “ Geralt started, biting the inside of his cheek, hard. He looked away and his jaw clenched. Jaskier reached up and despite the tension in the air Geralt let him trail his fingertips along his jaw, along the rough skin. “I’ve never been jealous before.”

He said it like a simple spoken fact. Jaskier tried not to grin wider.

“Makes sense,” he assured him, letting his hand fall away from his face. “I’m your only travel companion, the person you see most throughout the year. Of course you’d get a little... possessive of me or whatever.” Jaskier continued to ignore the hope in his chest, almost drowning him. “It’s nothing, doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Geralt still wouldn’t look at him. Jaskier shuffled his feet.

“Hey,” he said finally. “Do you know why that woman approached me?”

Geralt finally look at him, curiosity obviously winning out. “No,” he said. “Why?”

Jaskier gulped, swallowing around the lump in his throat. His fingers twitched, already wanting to touch Geralt again. Gods, he _always_ wanted to touch Geralt. He had barely realized how much until that dreadful woman had pointed it out. “She said there was rumors spreading about us.”

“Rumors?” he repeated ludicrously. “What kind?”

Jaskier debated if he should really be doing this or not. He hoped Geralt would respond accordingly - with disgust, most likely - and then he could rightfully shove his feelings down deep again, to never be messed with. They were friends now, he felt confident to say that much, but they would never be more. Jaskier had accepted that long ago. Their habits changed nothing.

“That there is something... _more_ than friendship between us,” he explained, slowly, watching Geralt’s face for a reaction. “Because of the way we’re always touching, she said.”

Geralt - the surprisingly bastard - just said, “Huh.”

Jaskier blinked, waiting for something else. But Geralt just stared at him almost thoughtfully. His heart crawled up his throat. “That’s - that’s totally unfounded, right?” he asked, but Geralt just kept staring at him. He could barely breathe. “I mean, we _do_ touch a lot but I thought it was just - you know, some kind of weird touch starvation or - “

Well, he had assumed that was what it’d been for Geralt, at least.

“If I wanted to touch just anyone,” he said, “I could’ve just visited whorehouses.”

Jaskier was at a loss for words. He stood there, speechless and wide-eyed. Geralt stepped closer and his heart nearly exploded. No way, no way, no way. “What... what are you doing?” Jaskier asked finally.

Geralt reached up, slow, obviously intending to stop if Jaskier asked him to.

(He didn’t, he wouldn’t, he _couldn’t_.)

He placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. “I think you were right,” he said, and Jaskier wondered about which part. But then Geralt smiled, the barest hint of teeth and one of his hands moved up, up, and around, cupping the back of Jaskier’s neck. The palm of his hand was warm and rough. “I _was_ jealous.”

Jaskier let out a sharp breath, almost a sob. “Um. You were?”

“Hmm,” was Geralt’s reply, always so helpful. But _then_ \- he was leaning forward, brushing their lips together softly, barely anything but Jaskier still felt like he was on top of the world. He reached up, fast, and grabbed Geralt’s arms. 

“What the fuck is happening here?” he asked, unable to help himself. His brain felt like it was on fire, trying to catch up. 

Geralt shrugged. He looked like he was barely suppressing a smile. “What do you want to be happening here?” he asked, the bastard. He searched Jaskier’s face, quiet and waiting.

Jaskier wanted _everything_ , but he settled for, “Just kiss me, you fucking fool.” Geralt opened his mouth, probably planning some remark about how he just had, but Jaskier yanked him closer before he could get a word out, their bodies pressing together. “And I mean a _real_ fucking kiss this time.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said. “All right.”

And when they kissed next, Jaskier barely stayed up, his knees growing weak. He felt like one of those blushing virgins in the novels he’d read as a teenager. He pulled back and licked his lips. Geralt watched him with dark eyes. Jaskier gulped. “We should, uh, probably go back to the inn.”

Geralt grunted, “Good idea.”

**Author's Note:**

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